


Canonise

by clytemnestras



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 07:54:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5577385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clytemnestras/pseuds/clytemnestras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People with dark souls have nothing but dark dreams. People with really dark souls do nothing but dream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Canonise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kwritten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kwritten/gifts).



> a/n: the alt title for this was OMG Ronan is Catholic DID I MENTION

Ronan’s knees have been rouged clean of skin since his sixth year of life, a reminder of the rough shag carpet in the old house, the sandpaper feel of it starkly different from the cold floorboards of Monmouth.  
  
What you have to understand about dreams is that they never start in bed, recoiling from the coming dawn, but on the floor beside it. Knees spread just slightly, elbows resting on the bed. He’s just missing Declan’s swinging crucifix around his throat. His fingers twitch, cramping and familiar to the sensation, even with his eyes closed feeling the shadow-sweep when Chainsaw picks up and soars overhead, settling on the bed in front of him.  
  
Every dream is a prayer for something.  
  
Ronan understands that God is something inside him and beyond him. God is something like Adam with grease on his cheeks and fire in his eyes screaming down things in the dark. God is something like Gansey, writing ancient scripture over himself when the book cannot contain the spectre of it all. God is - Noah, shivering and breathing slow puffs of white air in the hottest summer days, stretched and warm under the Cabeswater trees. God is Blue, her pocket-knife and the tear left in reality. Nothing is so much God as them and the holiness they demand.  
  
When he says, “God, forgive me”, he is asking; _please, forgive my humanness. Forgive me for loving so much._  
  
When he says, “Father, I love you”, he’s saying; _I have never loved as I love now, not my scars, my family, or the stardust of my blood._  
  
He falls asleep with his boxers high on his waist, knees throbbing and bloodwarm.  
  
Snatches of prayer and memory slide through, not dreams, yet. Not a controllable force. Blown through like a breeze, a lock of his dark hair from that first night, a year since Niall’s passing, Gansey’s legs bracketing him in the tub as he shears his head clean of resemblance. Next, the feel of the rope around him, his arms around her, Blue’s pulse hammering against his and her eyes burning his harder. Then sense-memory; Noah pressed against him hip to chest, not warm, not anything.  
  
The phantom blister-burn on his wrist throbs when Kavinksy tangles their fingers around a bottlerocket and dares him to let go first.  
  
It’s less a memory than a message. _“Careful, baby, you burn, the world goes with you.”_  
  
Then it drops, the world, the rocket and his belly in one. Trees singing something like Ave Maria, he falls against an oak and asks nothing of it. He’s tired, sleeping, monsters twisting around tree limbs too exhausted to manifest. Adam falls against him anyway, like a gift or an answer to the questions his veins shake to ask.  
  
They lie in the nothingness, touching all over and too timid to kiss. God says, “I’m listening.”  
  
Ronan tries not to wake up.

**Author's Note:**

> come chat with me on tumblr [@bohemicns](https://) if you feel so inclined


End file.
